


seconds in eternity

by CaptainAim



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Niki | Nihachu, BAMF Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Canonical Character Death, Dream Smp, Gen, Ghost Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Multiple Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu Needs a Hug, Phil Watson Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Phil and Technoblade are best friends, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Realistic Minecraft, Trauma, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Worldbuilding, not RPF just the characters, or my attempt at it anyway, technically niki/puffy but they just hold hands :]
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29804154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAim/pseuds/CaptainAim
Summary: There was an ache deep in Phil’s bones when he awoke.Not the kind of ache that came with living in the cold for months on end, or from landing too hard after forgetting about his lack of wings, but the ache that came with simply existing for too many years to count. It wasn’t a new feeling, not by any stretch, but it was always there, a constant reminder of the centuries he’d endured.Phil was used to eternity, to the slow but constant moving of time, and he knew that it was his weight to bear. But for as long as he had lived, he'd never adjusted to the pain that came with seeing everyone he loved move on, slowly fading away until their only remains were the memories in Phil's head.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Niki | Nihachu, Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 175





	1. we still sing these songs well

There was an ache deep in Phil’s bones when he awoke.

Not the kind of ache that came with living in the cold for months on end, or from landing too hard after forgetting about his lack of wings, but the ache that came with simply existing for too many years to count. It wasn’t a new feeling, not by any stretch, but it was always there, a constant reminder of the centuries he’d endured.

No doubt Techno would tease him good-naturedly about his “old man bones” later. Not out of malice, just because there was only so much you can say when your best friend was practically immortal, so why not make fun of them a bit? God knows Phil would tease him in return.

Before he could get too lost in pondering immortality, a cold wind blew in from the open balcony, and he winced as it tore at the singed edges of his feathers. He’d done his best to make his wings look presentable after the explosion, hiding many of the burnt edges and completely removing a few of the more tattered feathers, but no matter how normal they looked, there was always a missing weight on Phil’s back.

A constant reminder of the son he’d lost with them.

Perhaps it was better, this way. A memorial to his son; not for himself, as he already carried the guilt of Wilbur’s death around deep in his heart, but for everyone else, a reminder of the man Phil had failed to save.

Phil was once again startled from his thoughts, this time from a loud knock on his door, and he paused for a second before quickly grabbing his sword and warily heading to the entrance. That hadn’t been Ranboo’s knock, the kid was much more timid, and Techno likely wouldn’t have knocked before barging his way in- not that he’d ever willingly get up this early. It wasn’t exactly an easy walk from the rest of civilization, unless he counted the small villages nearby, so whoever was at his door _really_ wanted to see him.

Admittedly, if whoever was outside planned on attacking, they probably wouldn’t have knocked, so the sword was probably a bit overkill. But still, better safe than sorry.

“Hello Philza,” greeted the man outside, as Phil swung open the door cautiously, and he recognized his visitor as the warden from the prison. Sam, if he remembered the name correctly. “We need to have a talk.”

“Is this about the iron trade I offered the other day? Because you missed your chance, mate. Deals like that go quick.” He doubted it was, this was an awfully long trip to make for some resources, but it didn’t hurt to check.

“No, not exactly,” said Sam, confirming Phil’s suspicions. “I needed to… check on something. May I come in?”

Phil reluctantly stepped aside, letting the warden pass him as he closed the door. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“More of a some _one._ ” Sam began pacing around Phil’s house, looking around at the few decorations he’d set up.

“Security issue?” Phil asked, as nonchalantly as possible. He didn’t know Sam, but he wasn’t stupid. The warden’s job was to guard the prison, a job he undoubtedly took very seriously. If Sam was looking for someone in particular, someone who was worthy enough for him to leave his prison and important enough to warrant a trip all the way up north, that could only mean one thing. 

Sam paused in his searching to meet Phil’s gaze. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know why I’m here.”

“Well, I don’t _know,_ ” said Phil truthfully. “I don’t really hear news from the rest of this world that often. But I have a sneaking suspicion.”

“Which is?”

“Dream’s escaped.”

Sam nodded curtly in confirmation. “Two days after you just so happened to be bargaining for access in and out of the vault.”

“What, you don’t think _I_ broke him out?” laughed Phil. “I wanted that shit for me, as a backup plan! I wouldn’t have wasted it getting Dream out!”

The warden said nothing, just returned to his search. Phil, in the meantime, was rapidly considering his next moves. His few interactions with Dream had been through Techno, and he highly doubted the masked man would come to _him_ of all people for help. Besides, Techno hadn’t said anything about a prison break, which led Phil to believe that Dream had either busted out on his own or gotten the help of one of the less-skilled warriors that Phil had seen running around. Either way, there was practically no reason for Dream to come up north for help hiding, as Sam seemed to believe. But if Sam was too suspicious of him and Techno, it could lead to them both getting thrown in that prison of his.

“Listen, mate,” Phil said, as Sam continued to search. “I’m not hiding Dream here, I barely even know him. You’re welcome to keep looking for him, if you like, but you’re not gonna find anything. Well, you’ll find a lot of dogs if you dig down, but other than that.”

To his surprise, Sam stepped back, seemingly having exhausted all of the possible hiding spots in Phil’s tiny home. “I’ll return soon,” the warden warned. “In the meantime, I suggest you keep an eye out, else you might be joining him in prison.”

With that, Sam left the house, leaving Phil alone with his thoughts. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting this at all, quite the opposite, in fact. Techno had warned him a while back that he owed Dream in favor, and he’d been assuming that, sooner or later, Dream would get tired of his prison life and cash in. But there had always been the assumption that _Techno_ would be the one breaking Dream out, and once he was free, Techno would be out of debt and free to continue on with his life, not worrying about some mysterious favor being constantly held over his head. But suddenly, there was a distinct threat that something with Dream would happen soon. Phil hated it, and he knew that Techno would only hate it more.

No doubt he should inform his friend of Sam’s visit, before the rumors of Dream’s escape mixed with assumptions of how it happened. But the sun had barely risen, and if Phil knew one thing about Techno, it was that he wouldn’t appreciate being woken up at this hour, not even for a matter as pressing as this.

Nevertheless, as soon as Sam was out of sight, he grabbed his hat from beside the door and proceeded across the bridge that connected his and Techno’s houses. If he had to be the one to tell Techno all this shit, he might as well get comfortable. Besides, it was well below freezing, Phil was cold, and Techno had oh-so-nicely refused to give up the hot chocolate supplies when Phil moved out.

Techno’s house was the same mess it was last time Phil had checked, and he maneuvered his way past the several chests scattered around the middle of the room to make his way to the counter. It was quiet inside, aside from the muffled snores from the attic, and Phil forced himself to relax as he got out the supplies. There wasn’t exactly anything he could do about Dream at the moment, and he’d have to force himself to stay somewhat calm if he didn’t want Techno to immediately pick up on the fact that something was wrong.

A loud thump came from the room above him, akin to something large and heavy falling off a bed, and a few seconds later, Phil heard the tell-tale sound of someone shuffling down a ladder.

“Morning, mate!” Phil said as he stirred the sugar into his cocoa. “Sleep well?”

Techno grunted in vague disagreement, and Phil could feel the weight of the younger man’s arms rest gently on his head as he peered at the drink.

“This one’s mine—” Phil began, but was interrupted by Techno deftly snatching the mug from his hands and chugging half of it in one gulp. “Oh for fucks sake.”

Techno said nothing, just gave a toothy grin and moved to sit near the fire.

“ _Don’t_ tell Ranboo you drank that,” sighed Phil. “I only have enough sugar for one more cup, and I don’t want the kid feeling left out.”

“Just give him yours,” Techno offered unhelpfully.

Phil glared at him. “Your hair’s a mess, did you know?”

Trying unsuccessfully to hide the tangled pink nest behind his back, Techno reached for a nearby hairbrush, only to have his hand slapped away by Phil.

“Sit down, you’ll only make it worse,” he said, picking it up and starting to comb gently through his friend’s long pink hair.

Techno leaned back and pulled out his communicator. “Thanks, Phil.”

“Mhm.”

Phil’s hands moved almost effortlessly through Techno’s hair, gently brushing out the knots before pulling it back into the same tight braids he’d woven hundreds of times before. He didn’t need to ask his friend to know what he wanted, and Techno didn’t need to look behind him to check that Phil was doing it right.

He’d have to tell Techno about Dream eventually, he knew that much. But right now, everything was just too perfect, too familiar, and he didn’t want to spoil the moment with talk of prisons and not-quite-enemies.

“You doin’ alright?” asked Techno suddenly.

Phil paused in his brushing. “What’d you mean?”

“I dunno, you just seem more tired than normal,” shrugged Techno.

“Just the normal aches and pains,” Phil reassured him. “They’re a bit worse today.”

“Old,” teased Techno fondly, then winced as Phil tugged on his hair.

“I’d be more careful when you tease your friends,” he warned, but with the same caring tone as Techno.

He couldn’t see Techno’s face from where he stood, but he could practically feel the smile he knew was spreading across his friend’s face, and he heard the younger man begin to hum quietly in contentment. But seconds later, the humming stopped, and he felt Techno tense, almost imperceptibly, staring down at his communicator.

“Hey, Phil?” Techno asked casually. Too casually, Phil realized. “Have you been to L’Manburg recently?”

Well, so much for his tender moment. To anyone else, Techno’s voice would have sounded normal, just the voice of someone asking an off-hand question to break the silence. But Phil had known Techno long enough to tell when the younger man was testing the waters. There was no doubt in his mind that Techno had just seen something that caught him off-guard, and given Sam’s visit earlier this morning, he could hazard a pretty good guess at what that something was.

He was silent for a moment, as he finished tying up Techno’s braid, then he moved around the chair to face his friend, then asked, as casually as he could muster, “Is this about Dream?” 

Techno didn’t answer, just turned his communicator silently towards Phil, so the older man could read the words emblazoned on the screen.

_Dream whispered to Technoblade: Time to cash in on that favor._

“I’m assumin’ he wants me to bust him out of prison,” Techno said, after he was certain Phil had read it. “Given that, y’know, he can’t exactly do much else from in there. Gotta say though, I was hopin’ he’d give me a bit more warnin’, so I’d have time to go farm up some withers. If I’m doin’ a prison break, I wanna do it right.”

“About that.” Phil tried his best to keep his voice casual, but he could tell from Techno’s face that as much as he knew his friend, his friend knew him back. “Sam came by, earlier this morning. Asking about Dream. Apparently he’s out and about.”

“Ah.” Techno leaned back in his chair, and Phil braced himself for the inevitable tirade about what Dream could possibly want as a favor, but the younger man simply continued, “That’s too bad. I was really hopin’ I’d get to visit him over in prison. Not that that warden dude would let me. I tried explainin’ to him that I just wanted to make fun of Dream for bein’ a homeless green teletubby, but he wouldn’t let me in. Kept goin’ on about ‘obstruction of justice’.”

Phil didn’t even bother trying to process all the bullshit that just came out of Techno’s mouth. “Aren’t you worried about the whole favor thing?” he asked incredulously.

“Nahhhh,” reassured Techno. “He’s probably just gonna be a boomer and ask for some wither skulls or somethin’, ‘cause he’s too lazy to go farm it all on his own.”

A nagging thought came to the back of Phil’s mind. He’d known Techno for long enough, he knew when his friend was hiding his nervousness. Techno had never been one to cope well with stress, choosing instead to deflect it away with jokes and sarcastic insults. If Techno was doubling down this hard on Dream, he must truly be worried.

“You don’t necessarily have to meet him,” Phil offered gently. “He’s been in prison for the past few weeks, and you’re not exactly weak. It’s not like he could do much to force you.”

Techno narrowed his eyes as he realized what Phil was saying. “Well, no, but I owe him,” he protested. “I am a man of my word, Phil, and I’m not goin’ to throw that away because I feel vaguely threatened by him.”

“What do you really—” started Phil, but he was interrupted by another notification from Techno’s communicator. Leaning over his friend’s shoulder, he read the new message from Dream.

_Dream whispered to Technoblade: Bastion. 20 minutes._

“I don’t think you should do this, mate,” Phil cautioned. “You don’t know what he wants from the favor, it could be anything! It’s too much of a risk.”

“It’ll be fiiiine.” Techno’s voice had the same lighthearted tone it had for the past few minutes, and Phil was suddenly unsure if it was more for Phil’s sake or Techno’s own. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll only want netherite. I don’t think he’s got any supplies left, unless he’s hiding them in his totally real house.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Which is probably why he made the deal with me and not you.” Techno set down his now empty cup of hot cocoa and reached for his cloak.

Phil paused for a moment, thinking. “Why a bastion, though? That seems a bit unconventional.”

“I think he said somethin’ a while back about how one of the first things he did on this world was loot the bastion near spawn. Besides, Dream likes his dramatics.”

“And you don’t?” Phil tried to ignore the nervousness still bubbling in his stomach, mentally reassuring himself that Techno would probably just beat the shit out of Dream if something went wrong.

“My monologues are very necessary, Phil, can you imagine how borin’ all of my conversations would be without ‘em?”

“Mmm.” Phil didn’t bother trying to argue. “Just be safe, alright?”

“Bein’ safe is for nerrrds.”

“ _Techno._ ”

“Fine, fine, I’ll be safe.” Techno readjusted the crown atop his head and grinned at Phil. “See ya soon, old man.”

"See you soon, dickhead."

His hopes for an injury-less journey were immediately dashed by the sounds of Techno opening the door followed by a loud _thunk_ and a suspiciously Ranboo-sounding, "Ow!"

"Oops," said Techno guiltily. "Sorry, kid."

"It's all good," replied the voice, definitely Ranboo's. "It was just a bump."

"Cool, cool. By the way, Phil's making hot cocoa, if you want some."

"Oh, sweet!" 

"You motherfucker," whispered Phil quietly, knowing Techno would be able to read his lips. Techno just grinned at him from the doorway and waved.

"So, uh, where's he going?" Ranboo asked as he watched Techno descend the stairs.

"Off to entertain whatever Dream's newest plan is," responded Phil as he turned back to the counter to make another cup of hot chocolate. 

The enderman hybrid visibly tensed when Phil mentioned Dream's name. "I thought he was in prison?"

"All good things must come to an end," Phil said sarcastically. "I wouldn't worry too much, mate. From what I've seen, Dream seems to be pretty focused on that Tommy kid. Besides, even if he came up here, Techno and I make a pretty good fucking team, I doubt he could take us."

"I just– Well, I don't know." Ranboo somehow seemed even more anxious than his usual self. "Dream's, uh, not exactly a great guy."

"Yeah, no shit." Phil handed a steaming cup of hot cocoa to Ranboo. "Tell you what, mate, when Techno comes back, I'll ask him to teach you some basic sparring. It'll probably do both of you good."

Ranboo laughed. "Sparring with Techno. Gotta say, that seems like a recipe for disaster."

"I'll interfere after the first couple bruises."

"Gee, thanks."

They sat in silence for a while, Ranboo sipping on his cocoa while Phil perched on the windowsill, watching the snow fill in Techno's footsteps. The white flakes swirled down in a beautiful dance, not quite a blizzard, but still too dense to see through, slowly obscuring Phil's view of the surrounding hills. He wondered what his younger self would have thought about his current living arrangements. There had been a time, many years ago, where he'd detested the cold, hated the barren wastelands of the tundra, devoid of any life or resources. But then he'd met Techno, he'd built a home in the freezing Antarctic, and for the first time in centuries, he'd felt at home.

A buzzing sound interrupted his thoughts, and Phil went to check his communicator before realizing it was Ranboo's that vibrated.

"Anything interesting?" Phil asked.

"Uh… no," replied Ranboo, but his furrowed eyebrows and darting eyes seemed to suggest otherwise. "Don't worry about it. On an unrelated note, though, where did Techno say he and Dream were meeting?”

“At the bastion,” Phil said, after a pause. “The one near our base that I stole the top few floors worth of blackstone from.”

Another buzz, and Ranboo's eyebrows furrowed even deeper.

"It's, uh, it's still nothing," Ranboo responded to Phil's questioning look.

"Bullshit."

Ranboo paled. "It's— It, uh, doesn't concern you."

"The fact that you're saying that means it definitely does."

"Listen, Phil, I'm sorry, but—"

"Show me, right now." Phil stood up off the windowsill and partially unfurled his damaged wings, just enough to give himself a threatening silhouette. It evidently worked, as even though Ranboo still towered over him in height, the kid cowered back in fright.

But to Phil's surprise, Ranboo stood his ground. "Phil, I'm really, _really,_ sorry, but I can't do that."

"Show me." Phil's voice was quiet but thunderous, no longer the voice of a kind friend, but rather that of a warrior.

Ranboo didn't say anything, but he shook his head and backed away.

"Sorry then, mate," apologized Phil, and before Ranboo could do anything but look confused, he lunged forward, sweeping out Ranboo's feet from under him and snatching the communicator from his hands.

"No, no, no, please," Ranboo protested, trying desperately to grab the communicator back, while Phil read the words shining on the screen.

_Technoblade whispered to Ranboo: Whatever happens in the next few minutes, I need you to keep Phil in the house._

_Ranboo whispered to Technoblade: Why?_

_Technoblade: Just do it. Please._

As if on cue, Phil felt a burning against his chest, through his clothes. He looked down to see the friendship emerald that Techno had given him flash a fiery red, and small cracks began to worm their way across its surface, and Phil remembered with horror the enchantments that Techno had woven into them.

* * *

_"I still think you could've given me a bit more than one emerald, mate, I've seen your stash," Phil chuckled._

_"Yeah, and it's_ my _stash, so it stays put." Techno's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Besides, I've enchanted it with some pretty pog enchantments, you ought to be grateful."_

_"Lemme guess. It's slowness, and when I wear it and start moving slower, you're gonna make fun of me for being old."_

_"Now you're just givin' me ideas Phil." Despite his joking tone, the hands that reached out gently to hold onto Phil's were exceedingly gentle. "But nah, it's nothin' like that. It's a bit more… unconventional."_

_"Well, you gotta tell me now."_

_"They're connected to our respective life forces. If either of us loses a life, it'll glow red and start to crack. If we die, it'll shatter."_

_Phil chuckled. "Well, that's a bit morbid."_

_"It's more poetic than anythin', if I'm bein' honest. 'Cause, y'know, I'm not plannin' on lettin' you die, and Technoblade never dies."_

* * *

The glowing red emerald that was currently burning in Phil's hand seemed to prove otherwise.

"Fuck," he said quietly, and he saw Ranboo flinch away from the fire that he knew was burning in his eyes.

He waited, one second, then ten, then twenty, for the sound of Techno thumping to the ground at his respawn point in the attic. But the silence stretched on and on, and a horrible pit of dread settled in Phil's stomach.

The bastion, Techno had said. He was meeting Dream at the bastion near their nether portal.

"I'm going to save Techno," he announced aloud. "For your sake, I suggest you don't stop me."

Ranboo, to his credit, moved out of the way of the door, but he protested, "Phil, Techno wouldn't want you to–"

"I don't give a fuck what he wants. He's just lost a life, and for some fucking reason, he's not respawning, which means he's probably done something incredibly stupid, and there is not a chance on this god damn earth I am going to let him die a second time."

Ranboo just nodded, fear evident in his face. "Good luck."

The snow seemed to be doing everything in its power to slow Phil down, grasping at his legs and blowing into his face. Not for the first time, he wished his wings still worked, wished he could soar above the frozen wasteland to save his best friend. Instead, he was forced to just run, feet pounding in time with the blood rushing in his ears and thoughts running through his mind.

What if he was too late?

What if Dream had laid a trap?

Would he have to watch Techno die as he had Wilbur? 

He had made it into the nether and was running down the cobblestone path by the time the emerald on his chest had cooled down to its normal temperature. 

"C'mon Techno, _please,_ keep fighting. Stay alive," he whispered to himself, praying to whatever gods were out there that he wouldn't feel the emerald start to burn again.

Dodging a fireball from a nearby ghast, Phil began to scale the makeshift stairs he had made. It wasn’t long before the bastion loomed into view, crumbling into itself after the many raids and looting runs that had pillaged it before. Just like Techno to find the most dramatic place on the entire server to lose a life, Phil thought bitterly.

He just needed a few more minutes, that was all. Techno just needed to hold on for a few more minutes and then Phil would be there, he could save him.

The bastion proved just as confusing and maze-like as Phil remembered it, and his heart pounded in his chest as he ran through the empty corridors, listening for the sounds of a fight, or anything that could indicate where his friend was. But the endless black walls offered no hints, just closed him in tighter, forcing him to run in what felt like endless circles in a desperate search. Every second that passed, his heart beat faster, and he could feel the dread spreading throughout his body, threatening to break out into full-on panic.

After a few more terrifying minutes of running, he came to a small balcony looking over the treasure room. Two figures stood silently in the room below, silhouettes against the glowing lava. One small and lithe, holding an axe with a concerning confidence, and one large and familiar, standing proud despite his apparent lack of a weapon.

And then the smaller one lunged forward, swinging his axe at the taller, and Phil felt the emerald once again burn white-hot on his chest.

"Techno!" he screamed, and his voice was high and scratchy and painful, but he didn't care, all he cared about was the large figure falling to the ground in front of him.

The smaller figure turned away from the body, towards Phil, and even at a distance, he saw the red glow of lava reflect off the sinister smiling mask.

"Well, this is just unfortunate," Dream chuckled, seeming unconcerned that he was now outnumbered two-to-one on a narrow path, surrounded by lava that he could easily be thrown into.

Phil tried to stop the tears from falling from his eyes, focusing instead on the rage burning deep inside his heart. "You fucking _bastard_."

"Phil?" said a familiar voice from beside him, and Phil whirled around to see Techno approaching from a dark purple and black block. A respawn anchor, Phil recognized; one with half of its charge remaining, which meant Techno had likely respawned here after his first death, too.

Something nagged in the back of Phil’s head. Why would Techno set his spawn here? He wasn’t stupid, Phil knew that, knew that even in the incredibly unlikely event that Techno _had_ gotten tricked and lost a life, that he’d never set his spawn right next to his killer, and definitely wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Techno?” he asked simply, knowing his friend would be able to sense all the questions bubbling in his mind.

When Techno spoke, it was in a panicked, desperate tone, one that sent a shiver of fear down Phil’s spine. Techno was _never_ this afraid, certainly not of one adversary. “Phil, Phil, you gotta get out of here Phil, please, Ranboo was supposed to keep you away—” 

“Away from your death?” Phil’s voice rose in pitch to match Techno’s. “Away from you? I can’t— I’m not—”

“Phil, please, _please,_ just leave,” begged Techno again.

“There is not a chance in hell that I am leaving you. And _you._ ” Phil whirled around, pulling out his sword to point at Dream. “You are going to pay for what you did, you rotten piece of shit.”

“Straight to the chase, huh?” laughed Dream, but Phil noted the step he took backwards and the way he subtly shifted his weight into a fighting stance.

“I sincerely hope, for your sake, that you are very, _very_ scared right now.” Phil advanced slowly towards the masked man, but was stopped by a hand grabbing onto his shoulder.

“Phil, please, leave, you only have the one life, I can’t have you riskin’ it for me.” Techno, despite his height, seemed smaller than Phil had ever seen him before.

“And now thanks to this fucker, _so do you!_ ”

“I don’t want you to die, Phil.”

“Then you can’t die for me.”

Dream took a step forward. “I hate to interrupt this heartfelt conversation, gentlemen, but–”

“Shut UP!” Phil lunged at Dream’s chest, throwing off Techno’s hand and extending his wings slightly to help him balance. “You just killed my best friend, _twice_. I don’t care what you have to say, all I care about is making sure you never can again.”

Beside him, Phil could feel Techno rush to his side. He was still unarmed, still without armor, but the younger warrior stood strong and resolute, and Phil felt the same as he had all the times they had fought side by side during the height of their empire.

They were invincible.

Even from behind his porcelain mask, Dream’s fear was evident. Warrior or not, he was no match for both of them. But that didn’t stop him from attacking back, striking at Phil with impressive speed, quickly turning their slow back-and-forth into a frenzied dance. It was almost freeing, fighting like this. He didn’t need to check to see where Techno was, didn’t need to communicate who took which side or who would strike first. All the uncertainty of a normal battle was gone, replaced instead with complete and absolute trust. 

Phil lunged forward with his sword, and Dream dodged, right into Techno’s waiting hands, who picked him up with ease and threw him backwards against a wall. The masked man stumbled, narrowly avoiding falling in the lava, but tripped backwards, tumbling to the ground as Phil advanced, Techno by his side.

“Give up, Dream,” Phil said, ignoring the quiet voice that said that something was still wrong, that Techno still wasn’t fighting back as normal, that he was missing something big and obvious. “The battle’s over, you’ve lost.”

Despite his exhausted state, Dream chuckled. “Have I?”

And then he got up and lunged forward again, aiming not for Phil, but for the younger warrior standing behind him. Phil reacted on instinct, flaring out his wings to their full extent, tips brushing against the sides of the vault and forming a protective barrier between Dream and Techno. Too late, he remembered his burnt feathers, his missing primaries, his horribly mangled wings that could no longer lift him into the sky, could no longer protect when he needed them most, and watched in horror as Dream’s sword passed straight through their remains.

The emerald on Phil’s chest shattered as the sword pierced Techno’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: immortal!phil wasn't canon when i started writing this fic, i just thought it would be cool if phil was centuries old, only for phil to go and make it canon in his next stream. we win theseeeee
> 
> also follow me on tumblr @lesbiantechno for fun war criminal philza talk! also twitter @lesbian_techno but i never do shit on that website so don't expect anything from that one.


	2. my heart catches on every thorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok quick note on the canon divergence: i started planning out this fic before the whole prison arc kicked off, so for the purposes of this story, this diverges from canon before tommy got stuck in the prison with dream, meaning the whole "tommy dying" thing did not happen at all.

Niki’s heart pounded as she ran down the Prime Path; whether from fear, or adrenaline, or anger, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter, she supposed, it wouldn’t make any difference. Soon she'd complete her task and be rid of it, free to move on with her life, if that even was an option anymore.

The sun was setting, casting all of her surroundings into deep shadows that seemed to almost reach for her, beckoning for her to join them. She put up her hood— it had been Wilbur’s hood, once— and stepped off the path into the darkness, smiling slightly as she vanished into the shadows. There was a reason she had chosen this time to return here, and it would be best if no one saw her.

Ducking behind a nearby hill, Niki surveyed the house in front of her. It was _really_ ugly, she noted for the millionth time, but then again, so were most of the buildings here. The members of the Greater Dream SMP were not known for their superior building skills.

But she hadn’t come here for the house, or to complain about how ugly it was. She was here for more important reasons; and so she waited, breath racing as the seconds ticked by. Please, _please,_ any second now, he should—

_There._

A flash of a red shirt, a dart of straw-blond hair. He was here, right where he was supposed to be. Perfect.

Niki pulled out her bow and turned it over in her hands. She’d been planning this for so, _so_ long. Every minute of every day, she’d been thinking, observing, planning; and now, all she had to do was take the shot. Her bow was practically vibrating with all the enchantments she had carved into the handle. It was a one-shot kill, all she had to do was not miss.

She pulled an arrow from her quiver and notched it, aiming at the mop of blond hair that just barely peeked over the wall of the house. In ten seconds, all this would finally be over. Just one arrow. She took a deep breath, checked to make sure he was still in her sights, and—

“Niki?”

Niki’s heart dropped into her stomach at the sound of the familiar voice. “Wilbur?”

* * *

_The sun shone down on Niki as she lay sprawled out on the grass, her hands nimbly threading together a handful of flower stems to form a colorful circle. Beside her, Wilbur was propped up on his elbows; his voice, exciting yet calming, ringing happily in Niki’s ear. Both of them had long since abandoned their L’Manburg coats, opting instead to get grass stains on their less ornate shirts._

_“So, what I was thinking, is we can start planning to expand our borders soon.” Wilbur was gesturing wildly towards the country they were overlooking. “Not into Dream’s territory, or anything; I don’t want another war, especially not this soon after gaining independence. But if we start building further south, maybe just some small buildings, we can…”_

_Niki smiled as her friend rambled on. She’d only recently joined L’Manburg, on Wilbur’s request, but it was easy to see how much pride he took in his country._

_“...and I was thinking of having another election, sometime soon. I’d like to win, of course.”_

_“Of course.”_

_“But I think it’d be good to have one nonetheless. We’re the first independent nation in this world, after all.”_

_L’Manburg was Wilbur’s country, that much was obvious. And it seemed to Niki like it was a perfect fit— her charming, good-natured friend, leading an equally good nation._

_“You make a great leader, Wil,” she told him softly._

_His eyes seemed to light up. “Do you really think so?”_

_Niki nodded. “A great leader, and a wonderful friend.”_

_“I— Niki, that’s so fucking sweet. I’m going to cry.” Wilbur was practically shining with joy, and Niki’s grin matched his as she took her now-completed flower crown and placed it atop his head._

_“There you go, Mr. President,” she said, adjusting it slightly. “It suits you.”_

_“Aww, thank you Niki!” His smile, if possible, got even wider, and he seemed to almost glow in the sunlight, warm brown eyes twinkling with joy._

* * *

How different the man in front of Niki looked now.

“Niki?” repeated Wilbur, voice wavering with uncertainty. “What are you doing?”

Niki’s throat felt like it was trying to crawl its way out of her mouth. The last time she’d seen Wilbur, _really_ seen Wilbur, had been during the aftermath of the war against Manburg. They’d spoken, briefly, and then said she was cold so he gave her his coat, and then, _and then—_

“Wh— I don’t understand, Niki. Shouldn’t you— why are you—”

Fundy had told her he was dead, she had grieved, she had _mourned_ , but here he was, standing in front of her, the same mousy brown hair falling over his eyes, the same beanie that he’d always been oh-so-fond of, and he was standing here; right here, right now. But he was different, she noticed, his eyes were glassed over, and his voice sounded too far away, and he seemed almost transparent, like all the color had been sucked out of his body.

“Are you— Oh! You must have come to talk to Tommy, right?”

There had been one time, when Niki could have sworn she’d seen him. The night after Doomsday, she’d seen something— a figure, a man in a yellow sweater, with tears of blue running down his face— but she’d assumed, or maybe hoped, that she was seeing things, that maybe she was losing it, just as her friend had.

But the man standing in front of her was seeming more and more real by the second.

“This is great! I was coming to talk to Tommy too! Now we can go together!” Not-quite-Wilbur reached out to grab her hand, and Niki gasped as she felt his skin brush against hers. He was _cold,_ his skin felt like ice, and it felt almost wrong to grab his hand back.

“Tommy!” the man called out, and Niki finally processed the fact that she had, yet again, failed at her attempt to kill the child.

Well, fuck.

“Hi Ghostbur!” Tommy was talking the second he walked out the door. “I was down in the basement— I was going to make some more drugs, but then I figured— Oh, hello Niki Ni-ha-chu, have you come to see my amazing house? It really is quite great, innit, I think I really nailed it with this one. The nail in the coffin, as they say. Don’t steal anything though, ‘cause then I’m gonna— oh, well, you don’t want to see Big T when he’s angry.”

“Hello Tommy! I brought you a gift!” Niki couldn’t help but focus on how _different_ Wilbur’s— Ghostbur’s?— voice sounded, all distant and echoey. “I found this tulip, and it’s red! And I thought, well, Tommy likes red, I should give it to Tommy.”

“Oh, well that is quite a nice flower, Ghostbur, I think I’m gonna— Wait, hold on, why does the woman have a bow?”

Belatedly, Niki realized that she was still holding onto her bow, and that the arrow was still notched in its position. 

“No reason,” she said, hurriedly stashing her weapon away. “I was just, uh, hunting.”

Tommy scrunched up his face in confusion. “Were you trying to kill me, lady? That’s not very pogchamp of you. I’m a hero, you know.”

“Why would Niki want to kill you?” Wi— Ghostbur asked. He seemed almost… younger, Niki thought. Well, no, not younger, just… more innocent? Niki wasn’t sure.

“Well I don’t fucking know, she’s the one with the fucking bow!”

“Please, Tommy, you seem upset. Have some blue!” Ghostbur handed Tommy something: a crumbling pile of blue dust, held together with god knows what, and Niki recognized it with a start. She’d seen it once before, only briefly, running down the spectre’s cheeks after the attack during Doomsday. At the time, she’d assumed she’d been hallucinating. Maybe she still was. But Tommy seemed real enough, and the surroundings were real, and the hand that still lingered near her own was still real and cold.

Tommy grabbed the blue from Ghostbur with his usual brashness, but stared down at it with a more gentle look then Niki had seen from him in a long time. “Thank you Ghostbur,” he said, not unkindly.

Niki just stared at him. At both of them.

“Here, Niki, you seem upset too. Everyone seems upset today, and I don’t know why, but I’ll give everyone some blue!” Ghostbur pushed the same blue powder into Niki’s hands, and she took it, confused as ever. The spirit seemed upset, clutching tightly to his remaining blue, and Niki wanted to hug him, to comfort her friend, but the cold feeling of his hand held her back.

Tommy interrupted her thoughts. “Hey, Ghostbur, I was gonna go collect some wood, ‘cause I’m trying to build this hotel and Sam’s been telling me to collect shit, and it’s really fucking annoying, but if you come help me chop down wood, then we can go twice as fast! Well, not really, ‘cause I’ll just be being the big boss man really, and telling you what trees to chop, so it’ll probably go the same speed, but hey! That’s life for you! What’d ya say?”

“That seems unfair,” stated Ghostbur bluntly.

“Well, I mean, it depends whose side you’re looking from, ‘cause from my side, it seems very fair.”

The spirit was silent for a minute longer, then gave a very cheerful, “Ok!”

Niki gave a quiet sigh of relief as the two boys began to walk away from her. She wasn’t sure if it was out of anger towards Tommy, or fear of this new Wilbur, but she was certain that she couldn’t be around here much longer.

“Bye Niki!” Ghostbur waved happily, and as he walked away, Niki noticed another thing that was different about him.

Wilbur had always smelled warm and inviting, liked baked bread and old books and fresh-cut grass.

Ghostbur smelled like ash and dust.

* * *

Her secret city, at the very least, was the same as always. The chests were in the right spots, the stairs were in the right spot, and there were no ghosts popping out of nowhere to remind her of her past. Her own mind was doing that well enough.

The image of Ghostbur seemed to be burnt in the back of her mind. Everything about him, from his dull eyes to his cold hands, seemed to drive home the fact that he was no longer among the living. Niki wondered how long he’d been like this. Fundy had mentioned him once before, but she had brushed him off, assuming it to be nothing more than the man’s way of coping with the death of his father.

Maybe this was Niki’s way of coping with the loss of her friend. Maybe she hadn’t seen anything. Maybe Wilbur was truly dead, and gone, and she was truly, completely losing it.

But then why could Tommy see the spirit? And why were her fingers still dyed the same bright blue?

Shy chirped a worried noise from behind their glass, and Niki shot them a tired smile.

“It’s all good, friend,” she said aloud, more for her own benefit than Shy’s. “I’m alright. I think.”

They just gave a quiet vwoop, and Niki wished, not for the first time, that she understood their garbled language.

“Don’t worry.”

She really should be worrying more, she realized belatedly. This was the second time she’d tried to seriously kill Tommy, and for the second time, she’d failed. As unobservant as Tommy was, she’d already raised his suspicions, and she doubted she’d get many more chances.

But for some reason, she just couldn’t bring herself to care about Tommy. All she could think about was Ghostbur’s not-quite-right face, and his blank eyes that seemed to burn straight through her soul. 

She wondered if any part of her friend still existed in that shell.

“Niki?” 

For the second time that day, Niki started at the familiar voice calling her name, but this voice wasn’t Wilbur’s. “Puffy?”

Sure enough, when Niki turned around, Puffy was descending the stairs, an unreadable expression on her face. “Jesus, Niki, you look terrible.” 

For a long moment, Niki just stared back at her. It had been weeks since she'd seen her girlfriend, as Puffy had been busy with her plans to "protect" the server and bring peace, and Niki hadn't had the heart to tell her that people had tried that before, that whatever Puffy may try, it was doomed to fail. In her heart, she wondered if there was any way they could ever go back to that first date, return to the picnic and flower shop where everything seemed so right. Somehow she doubted it.

“Thanks,” she laughed at last. “I’ve had a bit of a rough day.”

“What the hell were you even doing?”

“I, uh—” She cut herself off before she said anything, but Puffy’s look seemed to burn through her mind regardless. “I saw Ghostbur.”

“What? When? In here?”

“No, I was out on the Prime Path.” Niki decided against mentioning her plans with Tommy. She wasn’t sure exactly what Puffy’s views on the boy were, but from the few sentences she’d shared in passing, she’d seemed to harbor a fondness for him. “I was just walking, and then—”

Niki felt her throat start to choke up, but Puffy gave a quiet _oh_ of understanding, and she felt Puffy’s hand grab her own, awkwardly but not unkindly.

“I’m sorry,” said Puffy gently.

They stood there in silence for a while, holding hands, until another one of Shy’s vwoops brought Niki’s thoughts back to reality.

“Why did you come here?” she asked quietly.

“What?”

“If you didn’t know about—” Niki stopped herself before she could mention Tommy. “—about Ghostbur, then why come here?”

“Oh! Well, uh…” Suddenly, the same unreadable expression was back on Puffy’s face, and she shifted awkwardly on her feet. “I, uh, just talked to Ranboo.”

“To Ranboo?” Niki hadn’t talked to the enderman hybrid in a long time, choosing instead to remain hidden underground. “What about?”

Puffy paused, and Niki realized that the expression on her face was fear. “I think something’s happened to Technoblade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the shorter chapter today! there will be a new chapter up very soon, and it'll be from phil's perspective, so don't worry! the techno angst isn't going anywhere
> 
> also follow me on tumblr @lesbiantechno for some fun times i debate some great stuff over there


	3. the fear in my eyes

Techno’s body seemed to fall to the ground in slow motion, but Phil couldn’t force himself to move as he watched his friend’s corpse crumple, slowly but inevitably, onto the hardened blackstone.

No, no, this couldn’t be happening, no, no, _no._

Phil opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out, only air. Why couldn’t he scream? Why couldn’t he move?

A small pool of blood was beginning to form under Techno’s body, spreading through the cracks in the blackstone and dripping slowly towards the lava. Surely, this was a trick. Surely, as soon as Dream left, Techno would get up, and wipe all the blood off his body, and make fun of Phil for his reaction. It had to be a trick.

Phil wasn’t sure what he’d do if it wasn’t.

Slowly, haltingly, Phil managed to force his legs to carry him over the few feet towards the body. It didn’t feel real, it felt like he was in some horrible nightmare, but there was nothing to wake up from, nothing to tear him away as he dropped to his knees next to his fallen friend.

There was blood, so much blood, too much blood. Techno’s chest was stained red, his usually pristine white shirt gradually changing in color to match his cape, and Phil could only watch as more and more of his blood seeped slowly out.

A hand twitched, and Phil nearly cried out with joy. He was _alive,_ somehow, miraculously, he wasn’t dead yet. Phil wasn’t sure how, didn’t care how, he just grabbed onto his friend as hard as he could.

“C’mon Techno, stay with me, I’ll get you back home, I can patch you up,” he pleaded, ignoring the horrible cesspit in his mind that told him his friend was already dead, that there was no way to cure that sort of wound, that if he could save people from that, Wilbur would still be alive.

Techno’s eyes flicked over, ever-so-slowly, to meet with Phil’s, and a sad smile spread across the dying man’s face. “You be good, old man,” he said, voice strained with effort. “Be good, and live—”

“No, no, stop this, save your breath, stop saying goodbye, this isn't goodbye!” interrupted Phil, pressing his hands over Techno’s wound in a futile effort to stop some of the blood. “I can save you, just shut up, save your energy, I’ll— I’ll bring you home, I can—”

Techno smiled, and shakily raised one hand to grab at Phil’s, pulling them away from the wound. “Don’t blame yourself, Phil, alright? It wasn’t your fault.”

Phil opened his mouth to protest more, but no words came out.

“I love you, old man,” said Techno, and then the light drained from his eyes and his hand fell limply to his side.

A horrible, gut-wrenching keen filled the room, and it took Phil a few seconds to realize the sound was coming from him. He didn’t try to stop it. Techno’s blood-soaked corpse lay unmoving in front of him, and he couldn’t do anything but stare weakly at the body.

Above him, Dream laughed. Phil had never thought of Dream’s laugh as evil before, but right now, it was full of malice and hatred, and it was one of the worst things Phil had ever heard.

“Poor old Philza Minecraft,” the masked man taunted, and Phil wanted nothing more than to tear the green bastard limb from limb, but he couldn’t move, still frozen in grief to his spot beside Techno’s body. “I’ll see you around. Maybe.”

Dream stalked past him, out towards the entrance of the bastion, and Phil couldn’t do anything but stare into the blank eyes of his best friend.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, cradling Techno’s body on the floor of the bastion. Long enough for his legs to go numb, for the blood on his hands to dry, and for the body he was holding to grow cold, despite the surrounding lava. He kept hoping that somehow, in some convoluted way, Techno had had a backup plan and had stashed a totem deep inside his clothes, that maybe this was all a horrible nightmare that his friend would wake up from, gasping for air and grinning at Phil’s tearstained face.

But he’d seen totems work their magic before. He’d watched Techno die once, crushed painfully under that damned anvil, and then return, seconds later, glowing with an inhuman aura and a brilliant grin upon his face. This time around, Techno wasn’t moving, it had been well past a few seconds and the pigman was still silent in his arms.

“Phil?”

It took a few seconds for Phil to hear the voice behind him, and a few more to process that it wasn’t Dream’s, back for a second round. Through a great amount of effort, he managed to tear his eyes away from Techno’s body and looked behind him, barely managing to make out Ranboo through the haze in his eyes. He opened his mouth, though he wasn’t sure what he could possibly say, but it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t force out any words, just a dry sob.

“Oh my god.” Ranboo’s voice raised from worried to full on panic, and he ran over to Phil and practically fell to the floor next to him. “He’s not— Surely he’s not— There’s no way he’s actually—”

Phil couldn’t say anything, and he was pretty sure he was openly sobbing now, but the heat from the bastion was evaporating any tears the minute they left his eyes. He was back to staring at Techno now, at his dull, lifeless eyes, and he saw Ranboo lean over the body, no doubt checking for any sign of life. He knew the boy wouldn’t find any, but that didn’t stop his heart from somehow sinking even lower when Ranboo sat back up, shaking his head solemnly and looking as though he was about to start crying as well.

“I’m sorry,” said Ranboo through a choked throat, and Phil wasn’t sure whether the boy was talking to him or what remained of Techno. “I’m sorry, I should have done more, I didn’t think— This shouldn’t have happened, I don’t— Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”

Phil’s whole body felt numb, like he’d just fallen into a lake of freezing cold water, despite the boiling air around him. He clung on tighter to Techno’s cold hand, hoping desperately that somehow the man would find a way to squeeze back, to hold onto Phil, to steady him. He had to wake up, surely he wasn’t really dead, surely this was all some horrible nightmare, there was no other way this was happening.

Distantly, he realized that Ranboo was talking again. “...got some help,” the boy was saying, and Phil was pretty sure he wasn’t talking to Techno anymore, but he could barely focus on the words. “Should be here…”

Another loud cry shocked him, and again, it took him a moment to realize it came from his own throat. He curled into Techno’s body, ignoring the burning stone beneath him and the blood staining his clothes, and silently begged his friend to stand up, to move, or even to vanish, off to respawn again. Maybe the emeralds were faulty, maybe Techno hadn’t lost his first life, maybe he had one left and was just biding his time, waiting to make sure Dream was gone before returning. He had to be still alive, there had to be something that Phil was missing.

A hand on his shoulder made him start, and he dimly realized that it wasn’t Ranboo’s, that Ranboo was still sitting across from him, looking down at Techno. There were other voices here now, he suddenly recognized, voices mixing with Ranboo’s, all with the same panicked tone. But he couldn’t make out what they were saying, couldn’t tell who was pulling at him, trying to get him to stand. But he couldn’t stand, no, he couldn’t leave Techno, he had to stay here, had to protect his friend, had to watch and make sure that when he came back, he wasn’t alone.

His name was being called, he realized distantly. Repeated, over and over, and the person standing next to him had pink hair, the same shade as Techno’s. Was it Techno? How did Techno get there, when his body was still next to Phil?

“Phil!” the person repeated, and their voice was too high to be Techno’s, but that didn’t make sense. “Phil, look at me, you have to come with me, can you do that?”

He shook his head and clung on tighter to Techno. He couldn’t leave his friend, he couldn’t go with them, he had to stay here, why couldn’t they understand that?

“Phil, go with Niki.” It was a different voice, and as Phil felt another set of hands gently prying him of Techno, he recognized it as Ranboo’s. “Puffy and I will get Techno, you go with Niki.”

He shook his head again, fainter this time, but he felt himself being pulled to his feet anyway. He tried to fight back, shoving back the people grabbing on to him, but it wasn’t any use, and he felt himself beginning to panic. He had to stay near Techno, he couldn’t let go, they were going to take him away and he couldn’t let them do that.

But the world seemed to almost blur around him, he could barely focus on Techno, no, he couldn’t let this happen. His whole body felt numb, he couldn’t see, he almost felt like he was outside his own body, watching himself get dragged along the floor of the bastion. He tried to fight, tried to move, but nothing seemed to work, his body was betraying him and walking forward, away from Techno.

Even as his feet moved him forward, he felt a wave of guilt crash over him. He was abandoning Techno, he’d not only failed to save his life, now he was failing to stay with him in death.

* * *

They buried Techno’s body on the snowy hill behind his house, next to the beacon and the graves of Ranboo’s pets. There was no gravestone to mark his rest— the possibility of someone visiting with malicious intent was too high, and besides, it wasn’t like any of them could ever forget where he lay. There wasn’t much of a ceremony either, as Techno’s few friends from the rest of the server were too interspersed with his enemies to risk sending word. So the four of them— Phil, Ranboo, Niki, and Puffy— were the only witnesses when his body was slowly lowered into his grave.

Puffy was the first to leave, only a few minutes after the dirt had closed off their view of Techno’s still face. She didn’t mention where she was going, and Phil wondered bitterly if she just wanted to get away. He didn’t blame her.

Niki left next, though she stayed until a thin dusting of snow covered his grave. Before she got up, she gently placed a small red rose atop the dirt, directly above Techno’s heart. God knows where she got the flower, but it was fresh, petals barely wilting in the cold air. Phil tried to choke out thanks, but it got stuck somewhere in his throat. She seemed to get the message anyway.

Ranboo stayed much later, kneeling on the frozen ground beside Phil until the sun began to dip beyond the distant horizon. There were tears etching their way down the enderman hybrid’s cheeks, and Phil remembered what the kid had told him about tears burning his face. It looked painful, digging deeper into the channels of scars that already ran down from his eyes, but Phil could hardly blame him. He didn’t want to imagine what his own face looked like.

Phil remained the longest, well into the night, until the moon had nearly completed its hike across the sky and the first glimmers of sunrise began to shine behind him. He was cold, he processed distantly, somewhere around midnight. Ranboo had left his own cloak with Phil, seemingly sensing that the older man would be postponing his return, but even the double layers of thick fabric couldn’t protect against the piercing arctic wind. It didn’t matter, though, because the chill he felt could never compare to the cold of Techno’s skin, temperature betraying the lack of life within.

* * *

He didn’t give up, not just yet. He had never given up with Wilbur, not when the books he’d studied piled up in every corner, and the totems stacked in his ender chest began to tumble over onto its other contents, and the blood of too many resurrection attempts coated his already crimson hands. He’d kept looking, searching every corner of every library for so much as a mention of the reversal of death, refusing to give up, even when Ghostbur’s pupil-less eyes stared at him from the distance, a reminder of just how little of his son remained.

But Techno had always been there, he realized now. When he was about to crack open his hundredth tome of the night, Techno would drag him away and force him to go to bed. When his hands trembled as he pulled out the totems in a desperate hope that this time, he’d find secret words scrawled in some hidden corner, Techno would softly take them in his own, and remind him to keep them safe and locked away, in case he ever needed one. And when Phil returned from his latest attempt at resurrection, eyes dull and sword coated in azure blood from yet another failure to bring back the son he loved, Techno had pulled him into a warm hug, wiping the tears from his eyes and reminding him that this didn’t mean it would never happen.

But now Techno was dead.

Because of Phil, because of his inability to protect his friend when he needed him the most, there was no one to pull him away. Only more motivation to search, to scour every book he could get his hands on, because he had failed his son, and now he had failed his best friend. It was the only thing he _could_ do, try to bring them back and hope they forgave him for not protecting them when it mattered. And even if they didn’t forgive him, Phil would be happy, because at least they would be alive.

The first day after the funeral, Phil had unconsciously retired into Techno’s house. It was a matter of habit, his sleepless brain telling him that if he missed his friend, all he needed to do was go visit him. He’d been met with cold silence, of course, an empty house plastered from wall to wall with posters of a dead man, their lifeless eyes yet another reminder of his death. But Phil couldn’t bring himself to leave the house, fleeing instead to the attic, where if he tried hard enough, he could practically feel Techno’s warmth surrounding him, despite the chill winds that blew in through the windows.

He moved all his books on resurrection in not long after, making some quip to Ranboo about how Techno’s attic had a library that Phil hadn’t properly explored yet, even though he doubted he’d find any books on the afterlife. Techno had never been one for textbooks and research, but rather mythology and grand tales, and Phil knew his friend would have told him if he’d found anything to help with Ghostbur. But it didn’t hurt to check.

Sure enough, after a few days of searching, Phil managed to find a small, leather-bound book, engraved with golden letters that read _A Study on Spirits and the Afterlife_ , hidden deep behind all of Techno’s favorite books. He eagerly grabbed it and brought it back to the small desk he had set up atop Techno’s bed, cracking it open and trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him it’d be useless, if Techno had a book that could help he wouldn’t have hidden it away.

The first few pages seemed unremarkable, detailing nothing but various deaths of vaguely important figures. Phil quickly scanned over them, not bothering to truly read. He’d seen enough death, he didn’t need this book to tell him more about that. But then he paused, finger hovering over a page that seemed more focused on _after_ death.

_There are many theories regarding the existence of spirits on this mortal plane. They are rare in reality, as most people seem to want to move on after death, but there have been enough well-documented instances of people returning from beyond the grave that very few doubt their existence. Rather, what most of the questions originate from is the tendency of these spirits to not act entirely like their living counterparts._

_Most spirits are described as “missing” a part, or several parts, of themselves when they return. This part may be many things, including important memories from their life, the ability to feel a certain emotion, certain feelings towards a person or persons, virtues or morals that they valued during their life, and many other aspects that helped make that person who they were while they were alive. For this reason, many people believe that the spirits are, to some degree, a separate entity than they were when they were alive._

_No one is quite sure why these spirits return, but most theorize that they only return if they have unfinished business on the mortal plane. Once that business is finished, most spirits move on, continuing on to whatever plane lies beyond this one. Any attempts to summon spirits from this plane have proved unsuccessful, and it is generally accepted that there is no longer any way to connect with these individuals once they have passed on. As for the spirits who walk on this mortal plane, many have attempted to revive them fully, to their living bodies, but as of right now, there is no concrete evidence on the theory of resurrection._

Phil buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly in frustration. Every script he poured over, every text he found hidden away, had proved useless, nothing more than complicated words telling him ideas he’d already known. 

There was a quiet knock at the door, and Phil jumped slightly in his seat, despite the near-silence of the sound. But he ignored it, simply turned to the next page in the book, scanning for any more mentions of bringing people back to life. He couldn’t let himself be distracted, Techno and Wilbur were more important, he had a duty to them. Whoever was at the door could wait.

Another knock, louder this time, and he clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to stave off the sound. The page in front of him proved useless, and he rapidly flipped through the next few, quickly scanning the dense paragraphs in the hopes that he’d find some secret hidden within. He had to find something, surely, he’d gone through every book in this attic but he couldn’t give up, not now. Not when they were depending on him.

The person at the door evidently grew tired of Phil’s lack of response and opened up the door. Distantly, Phil realized that his sword was across the room, and that he should be readying himself in case the person downstairs decided to attack, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He had to read the next page, had to try and find something, even if the rest of the book had proved useless. He couldn’t afford any distractions.

Even though he focused on reading, he heard the sounds of someone climbing the ladder and opening the trapdoor next to him, and then he heard Ranboo’s voice.

“Hey, Phil.” The enderman hybrid’s words were soft and sympathetic, and Phil wanted nothing more than to close the trapdoor and return to his studies.

“Hey mate,” he said, voice rough from disuse.

Ranboo climbed the rest of the way up the ladder to stand next to him, and Phil noticed that the boy was balancing a plate of small cookies precariously in one hand. “Sorry for bursting into Te— your house like this, I was just, y’know. Getting worried.”

The older man didn’t bother looking up from his book. If he ignored Ranboo, maybe he’d go away, and he could get back to work. He needed to work, he couldn’t afford this, Ranboo needed to get out, _now_.

“Uh, I made you cookies!” Ranboo announced, putting the plate on the desk in front of Phil. “They’re probably not the greatest thing in the world, but I’d figured you might like a few.”

Phil just moved the platter to the side and pulled out a different book. He’d already read this one, three times if he remembered correctly, but maybe there’d be something in here, something he missed because he wasn’t paying enough attention. He had to try, had to search for something.

“Oh-kay. Uh. Phil?” Ranboo’s voice sounded more worried now, but Phil just hummed in response. He couldn’t think about this conversation, or about the cookies, he had to focus on the books.

“Phil?” repeated Ranboo, and out of the corner of his eye, Phil could see the boy scanning the room, no doubt looking at the mountains of texts piled in every corner. “Uh, when have you last eaten?”

The small part of Phil’s brain that was still thinking normally seemed to buzz with alarm, and he reluctantly realized he couldn’t ignore a direct question. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “How long since the—” _funeral_ , he wanted to say, but the word got lost in his throat.

Luckily Ranboo seemed to understand where he was going, but that didn’t stop the boy from paling in shock. “Three days. That was— you haven’t eaten in three days. Alright. That’s, uh, that’s not good.”

“I’m fine,” Phil brushed off, hoping that Ranboo would take it and leave. “Don’t— Just go, and worry about yourself. I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not,” protested Ranboo. “Please, just eat something. One cookie. Please?”

Maybe if he ate the cookie, the boy would leave, Phil thought distantly. So he reluctantly picked up one of the pastries and took a small bite. It was just on the edge of overcooked, the chocolate melted only a tad too much, and crumbled in what he suddenly realized was his very dry mouth. His stomach rumbled appreciatively at the sickeningly sweet dessert, and he tried his best to smile gratefully.

It took all his effort not to throw up on the spot.

“I’m, uh, assuming you haven’t slept in three days either,” continued Ranboo, looking at what Phil imagined were his very dark eyebags, and his mind blanked as he tried to remember the last time he laid down.

Ranboo seemed to take his silence as an answer, letting out a quiet sigh, and Phil racked his brain with what to say. How could he say aloud that every time he closed his eyes, he saw the sword piercing Techno’s heart, saw his best friend’s body fall to the floor? Except sometimes it was Wilbur’s body that was falling, and sometimes it was his hands that held the sword in Techno’s heart, and sometimes it was just blood, covering his hands and his face and every surface in sight until he felt like he was going to drown in it.

“I can’t,” he said simply, hoping that would be enough.

Ranboo’s face was still pale with concern, but he seemed to get the picture well enough, and nodded. “Alright,” he replied gently. “Just, uh, promise me you’ll try sometime.”

Phil said nothing, knowing that he’d break that promise the second he made it. Ranboo sighed again, and reached across the desk to bring the plate of cookies closer to the older man. “Try and eat something, too,” he said, and Phil almost laughed at the parental tone that Ranboo had taken on. He had a funny feeling he knew who the boy had picked it up from. 

Thankfully, finally, Ranboo turned to leave, and Phil was about to dive back into his book when the boy said, “Techno wouldn’t want you to be like this.”

“You don’t know what he would have wanted,” snapped Phil, and he hadn’t meant for the words to be so harsh, but they came out rough and guttural and he couldn’t stop himself. “He’s _my_ best friend, _I_ know him best!”

To his credit, Ranboo barely flinched at the verbal assault, and simply said, “That’s why I’m worried,” before closing the trapdoor and leaving Phil alone with his books.

* * *

Phil tried to do what Ranboo asked of him. He’d force himself to eat, even long after the cookies had gone stale, and didn’t try to resist his eyes closing from tiredness, even when he knew he’d wake up screaming not long after.

Ranboo didn’t bother him as much anymore, no doubt wanting to avoid another scene, but he’d leave small plates of food just inside his door, and sometimes there would be a flower with them. Phil never bothered to take the flower, it just served as another distraction from his research.

He’d been at it for about a week when Ranboo finally made another proper visit, nearly barging into the house mid-afternoon one day, scrambling over himself in an attempt to speak clearly.

”Hey, uh, Phil, there’s, uh, something outside. Or, well, someone,” said Ranboo nervously, tail flicking wildly. “You really should, uh, come see.”

Phil just turned back to his books. He couldn’t get distracted like this, going downstairs was too much, he needed to concentrate. “Tell them to come back later,” he snapped, wincing at how aggressive he sounded, but didn’t bother apologizing.

“No, no, you really need to see this one,” Ranboo insisted again, and Phil scowled as the boy yanked the book from his hands, but before he could grab it back, the enderman hybrid continued, “Trust me, please. Just— Just come downstairs, and see.”

He wondered if Ranboo was trying to bait him into going outside, through whatever trick this was, but he could practically taste the boy’s apprehension by how much he was shaking. “Alright,” he agreed, already regretting it, but if he didn’t acquiesce, he doubted Ranboo would give up in his attempts.

“Oh thank god.” Ranboo immediately scrambled back down the ladder, and Phil reluctantly followed him out of the house.

The cold wind immediately bit at Phil’s skin, the second he stepped outside, and he regretted not grabbing his cloak before he left, but he didn’t want to prolong this any longer than necessary. Hopefully whoever came would be quick, just here to leave a few sympathetic words and then let him get back to work. But the snowy tundra surrounding him appeared empty, no one standing awkwardly near his door or huddling under the small shelter provided by Carl’s pen. Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw Ranboo, still incredibly tense, gesturing him over to where he stood by his house, and Phil grudgingly began to make his way over.

As soon as he stepped off the stairs, he heard voices— or, more accurately, one voice. He couldn’t see the person it belonged to, their form hidden behind the large snowy hill that separated Ranboo’s house from the rest of the area, but he recognized it instantly.

“...don’t like to talk much, do you?” The voice was distant and echoey, same as all the other times Phil had heard it recently, but he immediately recognized his son’s voice, ghostly whisper not completely disguising the more melodic tones that he had while he was alive. “That’s okay! I can do the talking for both of us. Here, have some blue, you look sad.”

Phil was already considering running back inside, dreading the thought of having to explain Techno’s death to his son. Or, rather, what was left of his son. Every interaction with Ghostbur was hard enough, because try as he might, Phil could never keep his eyes off the blue-stained scar that stretched across the spirit’s yellow sweater, right above his heart. It was a constant reminder of what he had done, what he had failed to do, and his damaged wings hung heavier at just the thought. But before he could turn around to head back, Ranboo shook his head aggressively at him, gesturing over to the corner where Ghostbur’s voice was coming from.

“You really shouldn’t be sad, you know! It’s nice here, there’s no rain to burn you, which is really nice, and you can just dodge the snow!” Ghostbur continued, and Phil suddenly wondered who he was talking to. The only other person he could think of who was affected by rain was Ranboo, who was still flitting around nervously near his house. “I’d come here more often, but I don’t want to disturb Phil. He always looks so sad when he sees me, and my blue never seems to work.”

“Wh—” Phil started to ask aloud, but Ranboo finally gave up on his game of charades and ran over, grabbing Phil’s hand and dragging him around the corner. Phil flinched unconsciously at the sudden contact, but then froze as he heard his son’s next words.

“Do you have a name, by the way? A fun ghosty name, like mine?”

As he rounded the corner, he saw Ghostbur, vivid yellow sweater standing out brightly even against the blindingly white snow. His back was to Phil, deep in conversation, but the scar across his chest was still visible from the back. But it was the man Ghostbur was conversing with that caught Phil’s attention more.

The other figure was much taller, towering over everyone but Ranboo, and Phil instantly recognized the familiar frame, recognized the pink braid and royal-esque clothes and golden accessories he had seen a million times before. But the man seemed ever so slightly _off_ , with the same transparent body and greyish skin as Ghostbur, and when he turned to look at Phil, the older man was met with blank, pupil-less eyes, staring straight into his soul like daggers.

“Techno?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so long lmao it ended up being way longer than planned rippp
> 
> go follow me on tumblr @lesbiantechno i talk about this fic sometimes and also other fun things :)


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